


When Italy Knew He Loved Germany, and When Germany Knew He Loved Italy

by Philosophizes



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:12:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosophizes/pseuds/Philosophizes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It caught both of them by surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Italy Knew He Loved Germany, and When Germany Knew He Loved Italy

Italy was screaming his throat raw in the yard behind the manor house Germany and Prussia shared, somehow just missed by Allied bombings, glaring in blind red rage at England and France and America and Russia with their rifles and spent cartridges at their feet, the rest of Europe’s Nations a spread-out presence behind them at Prussia’s scheduled execution. He knew he was at the breaking point with his anger, he knew he was five seconds and a misplaced phrase away from tearing someone’s throat out with his teeth- and for the first time in a century, a century of trying to stifle the anger and rage that had stayed with him silently simmering as the rest of the Italian city-states on the Peninsula grew tall and strong and while he stayed small and weak despite his naval power only to explode at unification and leave a killing field when the wars were supposed to be over-

For the first time since the day the number of living Nations in what-was-now-Italy could be counted on one hand for the first time in history, Feliciano was murderous, and welcomed it.

Germany was on the ground behind him, clinging to Prussia, who in all defiance of the bullet holes in vital places was clinging back and whispering rasping comforts to him; and Italy was here before the Allies with a killing fury in his eyes because _hadn’t Ludwig hurt enough?_

Hadn’t having his faith broken by the people he was supposed to be able to trust enough? Hadn’t having his conceptions of what made _a good Nation_ proven horribly, horribly wrong been enough? Hadn’t knowing what he’d help do and tearing himself apart for it, every day, where they could _see,_ been enough?

His rage ate his words and spat them out as an animal snarl, pure protective instinct, and his teeth stayed bared and his fingers curled because any moment now, someone was going to lose their eyes and their breath and bleed out from any flesh he could come in contact with-

But the Vatican stepped between Italy and the Allies, full of the self-assurance that came with being The Church, and held a hand up palm-out toward him and lowered France’s already-drooping rifle with the other, put on his best sermon voice, and started talking everyone down; and Francis had heard the stories and speculations passed around in half-secrecy about Feliciano’s anger, and Ivan had a look in his eyes that said maybe he recognized and understood the wrath before him, and Alfred had always had a weak spot for religious authority figures, and Arthur could see the way the states of the Eastern Mediterranean were trying to extract themselves from the entire situation and was maybe remembering just _how_ Venice had gotten its payment for ferrying Crusaders.

And someone was talking to him, he wasn’t sure who, and Kiku- he looked _horrendous,_ why was he here? If America had dragged him along to scare him with the spectacle Feliciano was going to- turned him gently around, and the sight of Ludwig in tears held tightly to his half-dead brother’s chest ignited such a burning instant of _heartbreakcomfortprotectMINE_ that suddenly, he knew.

Feliciano loved him. He wasn’t sure how, but he did, enough to kill for him, and there were only two things he’d do that for otherwise- his brother, the other half of his country; and his people, who kept him alive.

Ludwig was worth as much as his own existence; and fire and fury on _anyone_ who threatened that.

* * *

Ludwig was fighting down the terror and bile threatening to rise in the January air as he stood with his new generals, watching the first public review of the newly-formed Bundeswehr. He was closer to parade rest than standing at ease, shoulders tense, feet apart, and hands clenched behind his back, muscle memory telling him he should look imposing, in command- he was a _Nation,_ this was his army, this was his pride and protection- but his taught reflexes had him flinching minutely at each new drill maneuver and trying to shrink into himself and disassociate with the violence implied by a trained military force.

Fingers slipped into one of his fists and he realized for the first time he was trembling all over from the stress.

“I’m not certain you’re allowed to be here,” he said quietly, because this was a military parade and there was decorum to uphold- and there could only be one person hiding behind him. “It could be taken the wrong way.”

“So?” Feliciano murmured. He started to stroke Ludwig’s fist with his thumb, and that was somehow soothing enough to slowly relax his arms and shoulders; the sense of other man behind him enough to settle the guilt-ridden fear the phrase _‘a German military’_ instilled to a quiet discontent in some far corner of his mind. “I saw France lurking and America tailing him. _They’re_ supposed to be out of your business- take _that_ ‘the wrong way’.”

Ludwig found himself smiling ever-so-slightly at the protective irritation in his grumbling, and stifled it quickly. He squeezed Feliciano’s fingers gently, and imagined the way his friend’s face had lit up at the gesture until the parade ended and he could turn and see it for himself.

It was just as bright and sweet as he’d pictured.

Feliciano grabbed both his hands immediately and leaned in to give him a hello kiss, then abandoned physical distance altogether and hugged him fiercely, burying his face in his chest.

_"I’m so proud of you,”_ he whispered.

Ludwig was pretty sure the military officials in the vicinity were giving him disapproving looks, but, he thought uncharitably, they could screw off, and hugged Feliciano back tightly and dropped his forehead to the other man’s.

“Why?”

Feliciano smiled softly at him, nearly verging on tears.

_"You’re still here.”_

And the way he said it sounded reverent, and relieved, and insurmountably happy.

And suddenly Ludwig realized it was 1956 and they’d been friends fifteen years now, and they’d been the worst fifteen years most of the European Nations could ever remember; and Feliciano had been by his side for as much of it as he could manage even when he’d had every right and opportunity not to be and he’d seen him at the very lowest Ludwig would ever let himself fall, and that had been so much further than he’d ever imagined he could; and he could never, ever have come back without him, and he needed Feliciano in his life, he loved him too much to let him go.

He loved Feliciano.

Ludwig smiled back at him shakily.

“So are you,” he said, and Feliciano actually started crying a little so he returned a gesture the other had given him, so many times, and cradled him close and gave him a quick kiss on the hair so Feliciano could have his tears in peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Venice famously sacked Zara and Constantinople to recoup their losses from the agreement with Pope Innocent III to ferry Crusaders for the Fourth Crusade. This was against express orders from the Pope to attack Christian cities and got a lot of Crusaders excommunicated. It also just about destroyed the Byzantine Empire, which never really recovered from the Venetian occupation.
> 
> The German Bundeswehr was officially formed in November 1955, after the England, America, and France decided to let Germany have a military again. The first public military parade was in January 1956 in Andernach.


End file.
